


Finally, an answer

by kapakoscheisigma



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 06:31:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kapakoscheisigma/pseuds/kapakoscheisigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just one of my takes on why Hathaway left the seminary, my most dramatic ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finally, an answer

It had been a straightforward manslaughter and suicide. Depressing, yet another domestic incident. Wife finally lost it after years of emotional abuse and battered him repeatedly with a wok. She’d then killed herself with the carving knife. Kitchen covered in blood. Truly depressing. Lewis hated such crimes.

The only significant thing was the family’s parish priest. The wife had called Fr. Matthews to confess and he had phone the police and rushed around himself. Both priest and police were too late to prevent the suicide.

Fr. Matthews was telling Lewis about the years of abuse she had confided in him, and Lewis was replying how a judge would probably have been lenient when the priest interrupted him.

“James! Surely it’s James Hathaway?”

Lewis turned to see his sergeant arrive. James scowled and put his head down and headed for the SOC.

Matthews was about the same age as James, so it was easy to guess they had been at the seminary at the same time, not so easy to interpret the smirk.

Hathaway ignored Matthews and turned to Lewis from by the front door. “Sir,” he called. “Dr. Hobson’s finished with the bodies. Do I let SOCO in?”

Lewis nodded then beckoned and Hathaway walked, begrudgingly it seemed to Lewis, over to him. As he approached, the priest spoke again.

“Do you remember me?” he persisted. “I remember you. Well, we all did.” He stared intently up at Hathaway’s face few a few moments, scrutinizing him. “Are you happy with your choices?” He spat out the word ‘choices’ as if it disgusted him. “I doubt you are still with him. Or are you? If you are perhaps you’d be able to help your Inspector into Mrs. Murry’s motives.”

One look at Hathaway’s unhappy face had Lewis intervening. “I think you should leave the sergeant to his duties Sir. Constable Bates over there will take your statement.” Lewis felt Fr. Matthews behaviour was less about Christian charity and more about gleeful gossip and spite. “Come on James, let’s leave SOCO and uniform to finish up here.” With a slight nod of his head to Matthews Lewis stalked off to his car. Hathaway followed.

In the car Lewis said pointedly, “I won’t ask.”

“Thank you Sir.”

For the rest of the day, a mind numbingly boring one, catching up on paperwork, Lewis kept glancing over at his sergeant. Eventually he snapped, “No. It’s no good James. I’m going to have to ask about this morning.”

“About what Sir?” Hathaway did a fair job of looking innocent and nonplussed, Lewis could give him that.

“Fr. Matthews cryptic clues. Choices. Him. Etc etc. I’m guessing we’re talking about why you left the seminary?”

“We’re not talking about anything!” snapped Hathaway angrily, adding belatedly, “Sir.”

“Well, I’ll imagine then, shall I? Because Matthews’ implication seems to indicate he believed your life choices involve a gay lifestyle rather than the lonely celibate one you like to imply. As for ‘him’ – a boyfriend? Another student? A priest? A ‘lay’ teacher? Treated you like shit, the implication was.”

Hathaway stood up, grabbed his jacket and turned on his boss, practically hissing, “Who gave you the right to second guess my life?”

“In view of what you told me at Gay Pride during the Phoenix killings that makes you a hypocrite. I don’t like hypocrites.”

James paused at the door and turned, looking defeated. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t have a boyfriend. I’ve never had a boyfriend,” he practically whispered, closing the door firmly.

“So, tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“I think you’re going to have to.”

“Not here.”

“Tonight? Over a pint?”

“No. If someone overheard...”

“Is it that bad James?”

“To me. It is to me. I made a mess of everything Sir. I don’t like to remember.”

“Well, if you want privacy, come over to mine. Say about eight?”

Hathaway looked down. “Sir.”

“Right then. Bring a bottle. I’ll sort the food.”

Hathaway sighed and nodded.

“It’s a date then,” Lewis said seriously, watching Hathaway’s look of confusion. “Go on – go smoke your bloody cigarette if that’s where you’re going.”

Hathaway didn’t see Lewis for the rest of the day, he was in some senior meeting or other. The date thing was just an expression, he felt certain, although it went around and around in his mind all afternoon and at home that evening. He was certainly certain it was just an expression!

Nevertheless, once he was home he showered, shaved, dressed in ball-crushingly tight jeans and a spray on tight pint t-shirt after covering his body with expensive body lotion and cologne. The cologne had been a present from a friend, a half Egyptian friend who had brought back the perfume from Saudi, assuring him men did wear such scents. It smelled heavenly, anyway. He pulled on his favourite boots and coat and left, grabbing the rather nice chardonnay he’d picked up from the supermarket on his way home.

Hathaway began to doubt the ‘date’ being just a jokey expression when he saw the table laid with candles.

“Sir?”

“Have you eaten?” Lewis checked, in case Hathaway had misunderstood him.

“I don’t eat," replied Hathaway in all mock seriousness.

Lewis looked him up and down in the skin-tight clothes as Hathaway undid his coat. He could believe it, there wasn’t an ounce of fat, except for the fact he’d seen how fit and strong the lad was. You didn’t jump into a pool or a lake full of crap and knives to rescue people on an empty stomach. “Don’t be daft man, “ he said. “Come on in and take of that coat properly.”

Hathaway did so. He was too busy staring at the candles and placing the bottle on the table to notice Robbie Lewis give his bum and legs an appreciative glance.

“So, you going to tell me why you were chucked out of the seminary and answer the question that is long overdue. But first, come and have something to eat.”

Hathaway sat down. “But you don’t cook Sir.”

“No. But fortunately I didn’t have to. Mr. Marks and Mr. Spencer have done the cooking for me.”

“Oh.”

Lewis ate and talked at length of the procedural planning meeting he’d been at, which was even more boring than it sounded, and of Innocent’s behaviour, which he made sound funny. As Hathaway picked at his food, looking down, Lewis talked more, of Lyn, his son in Australia, the weather, any bloody thing, and Hathaway gave monosyllabic answers, drinking most of the wine he had brought.

When they had finished Hathaway got up to clear away but he was told, no, go through and sit on the sofa, Lewis would clear away and bring coffee. “And then you can tell me,” he added.

Lewis came through carrying the coffee and chocolate cupcakes, knowing full well that Hathaway would eat them even as he turned his nose up at Beef Wellington, baby vegetables in parsley butter and root vegetable mash.

Lewis’ instincts had been right, Hathaway instantly put a finger to the chocolate icing, licking his finger. Lewis was sure the lad hadn’t intended to be so provocative, but the sight of him slowly licking butter icing from his fingers was just a wee to provocative for Lewis. He coughed before focusing on why he’d invited his sergeant over.

“So?” he prompted.

“So?” echoed Hathaway, still licking his fingers before taking a bite of the crumbing cake. He left chocolate crumbs on his upper lip.

Lewis coughed again before looking at him in what he hoped was an encouraging, sympathetic way.

Hathaway let out a sigh.

Lewis continued to look encouragingly at Hathaway.

Hathaway sighed again. “I told you what I said to Will?”

“Yes.”

“It was wrong. I was stupid. I don’t think I can ever forgive myself.”

“James, you’re straying off the point.”

“No. No, I’m not Sir. Feadorcha and Jonjo could never forgive me, either. At least, I sometimes think that between them they decided to teach me a lesson. I don’t think they intended for it to go as far as...”

“Now you’re babbling James. Drink your coffee.”

Hathaway took a sip then realising Lewis had put a generous slug of whisky in it, took a huge gulp.

“Jonjo took me out for a meal, but I think he must have put Vodka or something in my wine when I wasn’t looking, because I became so drunk so fast.”

“And?” prompted Lewis.

“And, well, I fancied him and I thought, maybe, I was falling in love with him, and as the night went on I seemed to forget God, the church, my vocation, everything I’d been taught and believed more and more and lose all sense of judgement, of right and wrong.”

Hathaway paused, centring himself, biting at his nails and breathing deeply for a few moments. This time Lewis waited, silent.

“I can’t remember agreeing to take him back to my room at the seminary. In fact, there are great chunks still missing. I remember feeling floaty and spaced out and not really caring, thinking that Jonjo loved me and he’d take care of me and...”

“He seduced you?” supplied Lewis. “At the seminary? You got caught?”

“No! I mean, yes, but he didn’t seduce me, it was more... he... Look! I was so drunk, I didn’t know what I was doing, I didn’t even remember any of it from half way through at the restaurant onwards for a least a week, by which time the hearing had been –”

“Hearing?”

“When they decided I wasn’t suitable for the priesthood. Handicapped by my sexuality and my lack of judgement,” Hathaway said dryly, as if quoting.

“Do you remember what happened now?”

“It’s all so hazy. I know I screamed.”

“Screamed?”

“Screamed. Yelled the place down Sir. A priest and two of the brothers came rushing to my aid only to find me...” Hathaway blushed, “... face down, spread-eagled...” Hathaway turned his head away, ashamed, “tied up,” he whispered, “with Jonjo...”

“Having you?” offered Lewis, direct and euphemistic at the same time to spare James more blushing, but at the same time surreptitiously shifting, picking up a cushion and placing it discreetly on his lap.

“No! That is, he would have done. He tried to and I started screaming. Nobody could calm me down. I just regressed, my mind was at Crevecoeur, back in the summerhouse...” James spoke quietly, still looking away and down, the blush having faded somewhat, but his cheeks still glowed faintly pink.

“What happened then?” Lewis asked gently.

“Jonjo, you know, he was going to... you know? And I just screamed ‘no’ at the top of my voice, over and over. You must believe me, I don’t know how he tied me up, how I would have agreed to! I still don’t even remember that bit, how he... he started to hit me, calling me and uptight frigid bitch, and I was just screaming incoherently, by the time they came in.”

“James, if you had gone to his place, or a hotel...” Lewis began, horrified.

“I got thrown out,” Hathaway said coldly, “I think that was the idea.”

“If they hadn’t arrived when they did James, he’d have raped you. I bet he spiked your drinks.”

“Yeah, with Vodka. Straight blokes do it all the time...”

“Right, they think it a clumsy, youth seduction technique but it isn’t, anything that takes away self will is rape, James. But I don’t think that was what happened with you. Come on, think about this as if it were someone else, you’re the detective.”

“Eh?”

“James. Were you dizzy, sick? No. so doesn’t that rule out alcohol, even neat ethanol, which might explain the memory loss. But you completely blanked out, were spaced out, floaty you said, not drunk. You had no memory at all for a least a week, still bits missing. I’d say Rohypnol, or a prescription sedative, the kind they use for day surgery and dental work, you know. Something from that group maybe? In which case it wasn’t clumsy seduction or a spur of the moment thing, it was premeditated rape. If you hadn’t flashbacked and screamed, he’d have taken you so painfully you’d have screamed then. You’re right, he wanted you caught.”

“No. That’s not right. Jonjo was my friend. He said he liked me, fancied me, said he wanted me to be honest with myself. He told me afterwards, it was vodka, he was sorry, that he...” Hathaway covered his face with his hands. Lewis reached out, tentatively putting a hand between his shoulder blades. Hathaway flinched slightly. Lewis pulled back his hand.

“James. A couple of years ago I asked you a question, and you babbled about shoes and Yorkie bars. This time, will you give an honest answer?”

“What?”

“Are you gay?”

“Yes sir. But it’s a sin. ‘Detestable in the sight of the Lord’.” James brought his legs up on the sofa and hugged his knees to his chest. “Oh God, I hate myself.”

Knowing the best thing was to leave his sergeant alone, Lewis took the coffee cups and the plate of cakes through to the kitchen. When he came back, carrying a cup of sweet tea and loo roll, Hathaway was composed.

“What’s that?”

“Sweet tea. For shock.”

“Shock?”

“Well, you’re never this honest, are you?”

“Maybe you spiked my wine with truth serum?”

“I hope that’s just a lame joke James. We drank from the same bottle. You brought the wine yourself, didn’t you? anyway, you inject sodium penthatol, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, well...” James took the tea and sipped it.

“Do you really intend to stay celibate, to stay alone, all your life?” Lewis asked after a while.

“The pot is speaking to the kettle here Sir. You don’t date, despite all those women who seem interested, despite whatever it is you have going with Dr. Hobson, you never move in on, do you?”

“Well, I had my chance at love. Twenty-six glorious years with Val. You’re young, you’re bright, you’re good looking, you should find someone to share your life with.”

“I can’t. I honestly can’t.”

“These days, gays can even marry.”

“Civil partnership Sir, is not the same thing as the holy sacrament of marriage.”

“But you’re a young man, you can’t find it easy. You should fall in love, experience–”

Before he could stop himself Hathaway interrupted his boss. “It’s easy to be celibate, sir, because I am already in love. Only he’s straight and he’ll never notice me Sir, at least, not like that.”

“Oh aye. Married is he? Is that how you know he’s straight. I would have thought you’d had long enough in CID to know that means nothing. Not that I’m encouraging you to adultery, mind. I’ll debate you that being gay is a sin, but you’ll get no argument from me that adultery is.”

Hathaway’s mouth twitched at the corners. “He was married Sir. Not any more. No risk of adultery. Not that he’d notice me, I said...”

“Divorced is he? Then he is available. Don’t underestimate your charms, lad.”

“He’s a widower, actually, Sir.”

“And you make this assumption that this widower – older than you, is he?”

Hathaway nodded.

“You make the assumption this older widower is straight on what evidence James?”

“He loved his wife Sir.”

“James love, perhaps your thinking is a bit too black/white, yes/no – two dimensional, in other words.”

“What?”

“How do you know? This older widower who loved his wife might be bisexual for all you know.”

Hathaway uncurled his very long legs and stared in bewilderment at Lewis.

“As for not noticing you ‘like that’, perhaps he has. Perhaps for years he’s noticed the long legs, the peachy tight arse and those big, baby blue eyes and kissable mouth. Maybe he’s noticed those fine cheek bones, the elegant way you dress. Your fine mind, your sense of humour, the way you get his humour.... Perhaps he has most definitely noticed you but he’s kept his distance because–”

“Because I’m an uptight frigid bitch?” offered Hathaway, dripping with sarcasm and self-loathing.

“You do have issues, yes, I’m not denying that. Creveceour Hall and that. No one should call you such things though. Even think it!” Lewis added, not keeping the disgust from his voice. “But no, I was going to say, perhaps he’s kept his distance because he’s your boss and it’s against regulations,” finished Lewis before taking a deep breath and waiting, hoping desperately he’d not misread everything.

Hathaway looked down, rewinding in his mind everything Lewis had just said.

“Just to be crystal clear,” Lewis concluded, “none of that is hypothetical.”

Hathaway kept his head down, saying nothing.

“Maybe I’m an egotistical bastard and I got it all wrong.”

“No,” Hathaway whispered hoarsely. He coughed. “No sir,” he repeated more clearly but less audibly, so quiet he was.

“What do you want James?” Lewis asked sadly.

“What do you want Sir?” Hathaway countered quietly.

Lewis laughed wryly. “You don’t want to know.”

“But I do.”

“Really? Sure?”

“Yes.”

Lewis considered his answer. “Right now, the way you look, the image you put in my head earlier, I want to have you. But I also want what you want, so I know that’s no going to happen. What do I want James – to hold you, kiss you, love you, look after you, be with you.... I want you, for always, forever.” 

Hathaway turned his head, lowering it even more.

“James?”

“I want you too,” he whispered. “I want to stop feeling guilty about loving you, wanting you, needing you. I want to stop feeling sick and shaky when I’m apart from you, terrified you’ll see how I feel when I’m near you, crucified every time you smile at Hobson, at some woman...”

“Howay man! Laura’s my friend. My best friend, possibly, unless that’s you? And when do I date? You said so yourself!”

Hathaway was silent again. Lewis threw the cushion on the floor and reached out to James, touching his cheek, turning him to face him, cupping his chin.

“Love is never wrong. That’s what your friend Will said. Love is never wrong.”

Hathaway was trembling now Lewis could feel it. He wanted to kiss Hathaway, but needed to tread carefully, not to make the wrong move. He let his hand drop. He let his hand drop from James’ chin. He waited for Hathaway to make the first move.


End file.
